Chuck vs Mr Smith
by Poa
Summary: Chuck struggles to assert himself as a full-fledged member of the team, knowing that failure will result in his bunkerization. Mr. Smith threatens to take away all that Chuck loves, and Chuck is forced to make a tough decision-- with gun in hand.
1. LipSmacking

Although it isn't necessary, you can find background information for this story in Chuck vs. Beckman's Snowman.

Chuck vs. Mr. Smith

Lip-Smacking

At 6:59, Gabriel Mann's Lighted Up filled the room, the music slowly rousing Chuck from a peaceful slumber. He smiled. I do feel lighted up, he thought. It had been two months since his revealing talk with Sarah, and yet he remembered the words as if they were spoken only moments ago.

"_Chuck, this is new for me, and I feel like I need to find my own sense of balance. I'm not ready to say anything more," she paused, looking down at their linked hands. "Maybe someday, but not today. Can you live with that?" _

_Chuck let go of one of her hands and brushed the single tear from her cheek. She lifted her eyes to look at him._

"_Sarah, I can live forever knowing that I have you," he said, blinking back his own tears._

He had tried very hard to make her feel at ease since their conversation. He wanted to prove to her that expressing her feelings wouldn't hurt her or her relationship with him. Generally, they did the same things they always did, with the exception that their cover as boyfriend and girlfriend wasn't actually a cover anymore. But he had been careful not to push her, fearing that she might withdraw into herself again. Besides, given their situation as spy and asset, it was difficult to move forward. He had asked General Beckman to regard him as a member of the team, as opposed to being an asset, but he was still struggling to define his role. The music pushed his thoughts away and he dwelled on Sarah's face in his mind.

Chuck smiled again as he rubbed his eyes and sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. Removing his hands from his face, he suddenly jumped up and promptly stepped backward, falling onto his bed.

"Casey!" he exclaimed, sitting back up. "I thought you were going to work on not sneaking up on me all the time!"

Casey, dressed in his Buy More green polo, allowed himself a low chuckle. He was standing against the wall across from Chuck's bed, after having entered from the window. "I waited for the alarm to wake you," he pointed out.

"Oh, well, I guess that makes a big difference," muttered Chuck, reaching over to his nightstand and turning off the alarm music.

"What's that, Bartowski?"

"Nothing, Casey." Chuck shook his head. "Why are you in my bedroom?"

"No Buy More today. I'm taking you to Castle for a briefing," said Casey, tossing Chuck's Nerd Herder outfit at him. "You got exactly fifteen minutes."

Chuck grumbled to himself as he went into the bathroom for a shower. As the hot water streamed down, he was able to think more clearly. A briefing? There must be a new mission, he thought. His irritation with Casey began to dissipate and he began to feel… what? Excitement? Yes, he thought, I do feel excited. It was a strange feeling to have when he would normally feel overcome with dread. If this was a mission, it would be their first since Operation Snowman. Casey's wounds had finally healed, and there had been no Fulcrum activity noted around the Buy More. Finally, he might get a chance to prove himself to General Beckman, to Casey, and especially to Sarah. He dressed quickly and returned to his bedroom, grabbing his keys and wallet from the dresser. Casey was no longer there. Probably going to honk the horn at me any minute, he thought, making his way to the kitchen.

Chuck stopped in surprise as he noted Casey and Ellie sitting at the kitchen table.

"Hey, Chuck," called Ellie.

Chuck approached the table and raised his eyebrows at Casey.

"John brought us donuts for breakfast," Ellie said with a smile.

"But only one for you, Chuck," said Devon, who had walked up behind Chuck. He went to Ellie and planted a kiss. "Morning, babe," he greeted her. "Hey, John," he said. He turned back to Chuck. "I mean let's face it, bro, you are getting a little soft around the edges. You should get up a bit earlier and join me for a run on the beach tomorrow."

"Uh, maybe another time," Chuck stammered, feeling his face flush. He made a big show of looking at his watch. "Wow, look at the time. We should get to work, Casey."

Casey was about to make a sarcastic comment, but held it back when he realized how flustered Chuck had become. Besides, he did give Chuck a scare this morning, and lately, goading Chuck felt more like he was kicking a puppy around. He got up from the table. "Yeah, let's go."

"Great," said Chuck in a relieved voice.

"Bye guys, have fun today," said Ellie. "Thanks for the donuts, John," she added, giving him brilliant smile.

"Sure," said Casey, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed. He pushed Chuck gently out the front door and they walked to the parking lot. His phone rang. "Yeah," he said. "Roger that." He looked at Chuck. "Walker says the briefing's been delayed an hour."

Deep in thought, Chuck simply nodded in reply.

Chuck glanced at Casey as they walked and then looked down. "Um, Casey?" he asked.

"What," said Casey absently; he was scanning the surrounding area for any suspicious activity.

"I was wondering, if you could help me…, well, if you wanted to help me sort of…, I mean, it would be a favor…" began Chuck.

"What are you lip-smacking about Bartowski?" asked Casey, irritated by Chuck's rambling. They stopped walking as they reached the Herder.

"I was wondering if you might help me broaden my skill set," Chuck replied quickly.

Casey had opened the driver's door and was about to get in when he stopped and turned toward Chuck. He cocked his head slightly. "Broaden your skill set?" he asked curiously.

"Well, I was thinking that if I am going to be more of a partner than an asset on our team, then maybe I should learn some other skills, you know, like spy skills. Like maybe you could give me pointers on surveillance, or maybe some self-defense moves," Chuck said hopefully, gesturing with karate hands.

Casey scoffed. "Partner?" he said. Actually, the kid did have a point, he thought. Maybe working with Chuck would be less troublesome if he did have better 'spy skills.' Suddenly, he knew just where to begin. "Fine," he said, getting into the car. "We have an hour or so before the briefing, we'll start at the gun range."


	2. Mack Truck

Mack Truck

"Look, Casey," Chuck started as they entered the large indoor firing range, "this isn't quite what I had in mind." The firing range was run by the Los Angeles Police Department, and several officers passed by as Casey walked up to the desk and showed the attendant his badge and gun. He had exchanged his Buy More Polo with a black tee shirt in the car.

Casey turned to Chuck as the attendant gathered up safety glasses and ear protection for them. "What's your point?"

"Well," Chuck whispered, "I'm just not the Clint Eastwood kind of guy, I mean, I can barely be trusted to hold a gun, much less fire it."

Casey shook his head and accepted the safety equipment from the attendant. "Look," he said firmly, "you don't have to carry a gun. But you should at least be familiar with how to use one. And, you came to me for help," he reminded him. Casey headed through a set of soundproof doors.

Maybe Casey is on to something, thought Chuck. He remembered how he wasn't able to shoot the lock off the door when Sarah was trapped inside a freezer last year. Besides, Casey seemed happy to do this, and he didn't want to mess that up. He knew that he owed Casey his life several times over, and maybe this was a small way to start paying him back. With those thoughts, Chuck followed Casey through the doors.

The barrage of gunfire noise hit him like a Mack truck. He was immediately transported to the snowy woods where he was almost killed. Casey was standing over him with a gun; and he remembered that he panicked at first, knowing that he wouldn't see Sarah or his family again. And then, it was as if a blanket of stillness floated down on him and he felt calm. At least, until Casey's gun went off, and the bullet burrowed into the ground, barely an inch from his head.

Casey turned and placed a headset over Chuck's ears. He noticed that Chuck had paled and wondered if he was going to faint. "You okay?" he asked.

Chuck licked his lips nervously and nodded his head. They walked into a small partitioned area, and the noise level dropped. Don't freak out, Chuck told himself, his heart hammering in his chest.

Casey held his gun out to Chuck. "This is a Smith & Wesson M&P 45," he said. "It has a reinforced polymer chassis and a ten-round capacity."

"Nice," said Chuck loudly.

"You bet it's nice," said Casey, as Chuck gingerly accepted the gun. "It's not loaded. I want you to get the feel of it first."

Casey also demonstrated how to disengage the safety, and Chuck practiced a few times, feeling less like he was going to faint. It wasn't so different from his video game guns, aside from being able to kill someone. Or shoot a lock, he reminded himself quickly.

Casey took the gun and showed Chuck how to load it properly. Both men put on their safety glasses. Then Casey turned toward the target at the far end of the shooting area. He fired the gun rapidly, using all his rounds, seemingly without taking aim. He pressed a toggle switch on the side of the booth and the paper target moved up to them. Only two holes were evident on the human outline; one in the head and one in the chest. Chuck nodded his head in appreciation. Casey replaced the paper target with a fresh one and pressed the toggle switch again, sending the target to about the midway point from the booth to the end of the shooting area.

Chuck took the gun, loaded it, and aimed it at the target. Casey showed him how to hold the gun with two hands, and emphasized the importance of squeezing, rather than pulling, the trigger. Chuck took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. He stepped back a little as the gun kicked a bit, and he gave Casey a nervous look.

"That's okay," said Casey. "Just strengthen your stance and try again."

Forty minutes later, they turned in the safety equipment and walked out to the Herder. Chuck felt good about the experience. Casey only yelled at him once, when he accidentally pointed the gun at him while trying to load it. And, he managed to hit the paper target pretty often, thanks to his gaming experience. Even so, he hoped he would never have to touch a gun again, much less aim it at a real person.

Casey wondered if he had made the right decision, especially in the beginning, when he thought Chuck was going to faint. He didn't think about the gunplay Chuck had been through just recently. He was surprised, though; Chuck seemed to recover quickly and actually did a fair job, for his first time. Beckman was following his recommendation that Chuck be allowed to continue living on the outside, and he wasn't about to forget that. Chuck had a way of screwing things up, and Casey was determined to keep that from happening this time. Much as he hated the thought, he should probably spend a little more time with Chuck, teaching him how to stay out of trouble, if that was even possible.

Casey and Chuck got in the Herder and drove toward the Orange Orange.

"So it went okay didn't it?" asked Chuck.

"Well, I managed to get through it without losing an appendage, so that's something," replied Casey.

***

As Casey and Chuck descended the steps into Castle, Sarah looked up. "You're late," she said.

"Traffic," Casey muttered, moving to a seat in front of the large display screen on the wall.

Chuck simply shrugged his shoulders, moving toward a seat behind Casey. Sarah approached him and touched his shoulder, giving him a smile. Chuck immediately blushed and nearly stumbled over one of the chairs. Sarah's eyes crinkled with amusement as Chuck felt for his chair and sat down, not taking his eyes off her as she glided into a seat next to him.

"Ahem." General Beckman's image had appeared on the display. "Is the Inter…, I mean, is Mr. Bartowski feeling okay?" she asked severely. "He looks a little flushed."

"Fine, General," Chuck replied, tearing his eyes away from Sarah. "I went jogging with my soon-to-be brother-in-law today, that's all. You know, trying to keep in shape." He gave a short laugh and looked away from the screen.

Ignoring him, General Beckman continued. "We have encountered a situation for which you may be able to provide assistance. Edward Smith, a doctor with a specialty in infectious disease and biological warfare, was attending a symposium in the Los Angeles area last night when he disappeared." A picture of Smith appeared on the monitor: a large man with dark features, a small mouth, and piercing blue eyes.

Chuck felt some of his initial excitement fade; he wouldn't want to meet that guy in a dark alley, he thought. "He doesn't look much like a doctor," he commented.

"He was recruited as an asset several years ago; three years ago, he demanded operative training," Beckman said.

"So you have agents out there who were formerly assets?" asked Chuck with a start.

Sarah answered him. "I've heard of this guy. Smith is the only one, Chuck."

"And apparently, that may have been a mistake," said Beckman. "We've have been investigating Mr. Smith for the past four months. Some of his research had turned up in Chinese and Russian intel. We were looking for a money trail to determine if he was leaking the research, or if the research was being smuggled out by someone else. We found his Cayman account a few days ago, and we planned to bring him in after the symposium."

"Why wait?" asked Casey.

"He was working on a special project, involving a virus transmitted via a water supply. Although the half-life was very short, the advantage was that the virus was undetectable, even at peak levels. The project was to develop a method of detecting and neutralizing the virus. His final communication with our scientists revealed that he was meeting someone at the symposium who could help him finish the work." Beckman paused. "Obviously, we preferred that he finished his project before taking him in. He erased all evidence of the project in the base computers, and the files at his Washington apartment were similarly destroyed."

"What can we do, General?" asked Sarah.

"Mr. Smith has gained quite a reputation as an excellent, though somewhat reckless, operative; it's doubtful that he was grabbed. We are assuming that he finished the project, and that he is now preparing to either meet a buyer, or perhaps simply flee the country. We want Mr. Bartowski to review what information we have, and we want you and Agent Casey to escort him to the Stonegate Hotel, where Smith stayed. There is no indication that he left Los Angeles. Perhaps Mr. Bartowski can use the Intersect to determine where he might have gone. I will await your findings." The screen went blank.

"Great," said Chuck glumly, turning to look at Sarah. "The one other asset who became an operative is a bad guy."

"Don't worry about it, Chuck," Sarah reassured him. "Even Beckman knows that you're a different type of asset." Secretly, though, she was worried. This case coming up just as Chuck was trying to shake free of being an asset seemed like a bad omen. She thought she had made a horrible mistake, letting Chuck know that she had feelings for him, but he seemed to be handling it well. And she had hoped that as Chuck became more of an operative, they wouldn't have to hide their feelings from Casey and Beckman anymore. She hoped this mission was a simple find and recover. She shuddered at the memory of seeing Chuck lying on the ground, thinking he was lost to her forever. She couldn't bear to go through anything like that again. She followed Chuck and Casey up the stairs. She was definitely going to stick close to him during this mission.


	3. The Mammoth Hunters

The Mammoth Hunters

Stonegate Hotel was located in Selene, a small, posh offshoot of the city, frequented by travelling lawyers, politicians, and academicians. The seven-story building was brick and mortar, with a wrought-iron fence and gate. The only stone present was a large boulder sitting in the middle of the circle drive with the words Stonegate Hotel etched deeply on the flattened front surface. Casey parked his black Trailblazer along the circle drive and he and Chuck entered the hotel while Sarah spoke with the parking attendant, showing the young man a picture of Mr. Smith.

Casey flashed a badge at the woman behind the counter. "FBI, we need to get into room 507," he said bluntly.

The woman gave Casey a suspicious stare. She wore her faded red hair tied back in a tight bun, and she peered at him over her reading glasses, slipping the novel she was reading, _The Mammoth Hunters _by Jean Auel, under the marble countertop. "Do you have a warrant?" she asked.

"We don't need a warrant," said Casey. "We're searching for a missing person." He held his hand out expectantly.

The woman scoffed. "We are very protective of our clientele, and I need to see a warrant before allowing you to enter a guest's room." She set her mouth firmly and crossed her arms.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" interjected Chuck. "My name is Agent Carmichael, and I know this must be a terrible inconvenience, and I can appreciate your hesitation, after all, your fine establishment has such a glowing reputation for customer service." He flashed a smile at her. "My partner is a bit gruff, but he means well. It's just that the man we're looking for witnessed a horrible crime, and surely you can understand how upset we are that he has suddenly disappeared. I mean, his wife is practically out of her mind with worry."

The woman uncrossed her arms. "Well…" she said, thinking.

"Please, ma'am," said Chuck, "we already know that he isn't here, we were just hoping to find some clue indicating where he went."

"I suppose it's all right," she said, finally giving in. She pulled out the hotel register. "Room 507 has been occupied by an Edward Smith for the last four nights. He has not checked out as of yet." She handed Chuck the pass card to the room. "I hope you find that poor man."

"If we do, ma'am, it will be partly due to your cooperation, and we will gladly send the management a letter to that effect," said Chuck.

The woman smiled. "Oh, my, well," she said, placing a hand on her chest. "I am only a concerned citizen."

In the elevator, Chuck smiled triumphantly at Casey as he dangled the pass card in front of him. Casey grabbed the card and returned the smile with a cold stare. Chuck's smile quickly faded and they got off on the fifth floor. Room 507 was four doors down on the right. As Casey inserted the pass card into the lock, he realized that Chuck was standing directly behind him, and he shoved Chuck off to the side, signaling him to stay put. With his gun drawn, Casey entered the room. A moment later, he called out for Chuck to enter.

The room was neat, and at first, Chuck thought that it had been cleared out. Then he noticed Casey was rifling through some papers on the small desk in the corner. Chuck moved over to the closet and noted three black business suits on hangers and a pair of black dress shoes on the shelf. The man in black, Chuck thought to himself. The door to the room suddenly opened and Casey aimed his gun.

"Relax," said Sarah, entering the room and closing the door behind her. Casey put his gun away and returned to the desk. "I questioned the cleaning staff and parking attendants. The last time anyone saw Smith was yesterday morning. He left in a cab."

Chuck was going through all the pockets in the suits and he looked up as Sarah entered. She was wearing a simple blue button-down shirt with black pants. He caught his breath and felt his heart flutter; he loved to see her in blue. Even after knowing her for a year and a half, she still had this overpowering effect on him, and he wondered for the hundredth time why someone so smart and beautiful would want anything to do with him.

"Any luck yet?" Sarah asked him.

"Nothing," he replied, pushing the hangers off to one side.

"Make sure you check the shoes," she told him. Noticing his puzzled look, she explained. "Spies are notorious for hiding stuff in their shoes."

"Oh, gotcha," said Chuck, picking up the shoes and examining them closely. Inwardly, he kicked himself. When was this spy stuff going to start sinking in? Finished with the shoes, he watched as Sarah took down the oil painting hanging on the wall over the bed.

He had given up hope that Sarah would see him as anything more than an asset; or maybe as a friend at best. But over the past few months, he had noticed small changes; she smiled more often, for one. And sometimes he could make her laugh. He knew there was more work to do; he caught her with a haunted look in her eyes more than once. Although he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right, he knew that he had to be patient. He couldn't help her with whatever was holding her back; he could only make sure that he was there for her when she was ready.

Sarah finished looking at the painting and turned toward Chuck expectantly.

"Nothing in the closet," said Chuck quickly, averting his gaze.

"Check out the dresser," said Casey, tossing the papers aside and searching the desk drawers. Sarah slid the mattress from the bed and flipped it over.

A small diamond earring rested on top of the dresser and Chuck picked it up.

He immediately felt that familiar small tickle at the back of his brain, and he braced himself physically for the full impact of the Intersect as it slammed forward into his consciousness. His vision blackened and he fought the urge to vomit as a wave of nausea flooded his body. Images filled his mind's eye: baby turtles erupting from their shells on a beach; a woman with torn clothing and a bloody lip; Mr. Smith with a gun shooting another man; a dark gray river with a body floating facedown in the churning water; Mr. Smith in a white lab coat speaking to a large audience; an assortment of knives on a red tray; a brilliant white laboratory with beakers and graduated cylinders filled with colored liquids; a dead rabbit in the woods surrounded by a cloud of flies; and finally, a black horse racing across an open meadow. Chuck's eyes blinked uncontrollably and he reached out to touch the dresser as the Intersect withdrew into his unconscious mind. His vision cleared and a headache erupted across the back of his skull.

"Uh, guys?" he said. "This is a very bad, bad guy." He kept his hand on the dresser for support.

Sarah walked over to him. "What is it, Chuck?" She searched his pale face and wondered if the Intersect flashes were becoming too overwhelming for him.

"This guy is very bad news," Chuck said in a shaky voice. "This guy _enjoys_ killing people."

"Where is he?" asked Sarah.

"5654 Wilmington Drive. It's a laboratory in an old warehouse," Chuck replied quickly, the address coming forth in his mind with ease.

"Fine, Casey and I will check it out and meet you back at Castle," said Sarah.

"No," said Chuck quickly. "I'll come along," he said, walking out the door.

Sarah turned to Casey. "He shouldn't come," she said.

"Why not?" asked Casey. "Look, he's not going to be any help to us if we keep coddling him. Beckman says he's part of the team, then he's part of the team."

Sarah raised her eyebrows.

"I'll keep an extra eye on him," Casey added.

Still not satisfied, Sarah nodded her head as she and Casey followed Chuck to the elevator. She didn't think Chuck would ever be ready to handle the ramifications of mission work. He was a mild, sweet-tempered man who probably wouldn't swat a fly if it landed on him. From the beginning, she had been his protector, not only from physical harm, but from the potential of psychological harm as well. She knew from personal experience how the violence of mission work could pervade someone to the core of their being. It changed people.

She didn't realize until just recently that maybe she had been changed. But her life with the CIA started at such a young age, before she really knew who she was. Even before the CIA, she lived life on the run with her dad, conning people for money. She wondered if she knew herself at all. Chuck told her once that he knew her better than she did, but she knew he was wrong. It's too late for me, she thought. But she would be damned if it was going to happen to Chuck. With those thoughts running through her mind, Sarah got in the elevator and stood next to Chuck, who was pointedly not looking at her. She brushed his hand with hers and he looked at her and smiled hesitantly. She gave him a small smile in return, and the trio left the hotel in Casey's truck, heading toward Wilmington Drive.


	4. A Little C4

A Little C-4

In his lab, which was secreted in an abandoned warehouse, Edward Smith aimed his gun at Richie Montcalm and smiled before pulling the trigger. Montcalm, who had been on his knees, slumped over to the side as the bullet passed through his head, leaving a small entry hole in the center of his forehead. Montcalm died well, thought Smith. No blubbering or begging, just simple silence and a glassy stare. Of all the deaths he had witnessed, he preferred those who accepted their fate stoically; although, he thought with a smile, he did enjoy watching that sniveling whelp of a man, Gabon , plead for a second chance before finally succumbing as Smith added a fourth 60-pound weight to his chest, preventing the man from drawing breath.

Smith holstered his gun and turned to the stainless steel countertop, transferring ten small fluid-filled vials from a test tube rack into a metal foam-lined box. He slipped the box into his interior jacket pocket. Stepping over Richie's body, he sat at a computer and confirmed that all the files had been destroyed. He had memorized his research, ensuring that no one would be able to follow his work, and more importantly, it would ensure his safety as he traveled to meet his buyers.

A small beeping sound alerted him, and he walked across the room to a table holding three separate monitors. One of the remote cameras was picking up some activity. Smith frowned as he watched a dark SUV park just outside the warehouse entrance.

***

"Stay in the car, Chuck," said Sarah, preparing to exit Casey's truck.

Chuck was determined that his days of staying in the car were over, and he was trying to think of a response that would convince her when Casey spoke up.

"I think he should come with us," Casey said firmly.

"Really?" asked Sarah dubiously.

"Really?" Chuck echoed.

"Every time we leave him in the car, he gets into trouble," Casey pointed out. "Besides, we might need the Intersect."

Sarah was silent for a moment, and then she nodded her head. "Fine, but Chuck, you stay within my sight at all times, understood?"

Chuck nodded his head and got of the truck, nervously fumbling with his tie as he followed Casey and Sarah toward the warehouse. When they reached the door, Chuck immediately stood off to one side and flattened himself against the brick wall, looking out into the parking lot. The warehouse was located in a nearly abandoned industrial park, occupied only by two machine shops and one collision-repair business. Several large buildings flanked the parking lot; shards of glass glittered beneath the broken windows. The empty buildings seemed to loom over the small lot, and Chuck was relieved to finally follow Casey and Sarah into the warehouse.

As his eyes adjusted to the sudden dimness, Chuck scanned the room, allowing his mind to wander over the landscape. With experience, he had discovered that his flashes were only a part of the Intersect's workings within his mind. The initial flash seemed to open a conduit of information in his brain, allowing him to make connections between the intel contained within the flash images and his own thought processes. It wasn't a conscious knowledge, however; it was instinctive, and Chuck had learned to trust that instinct over time. Even now, he sensed that a door on the west wall of the warehouse would lead to the laboratory.

He pointed to a corridor between tall metal shelving units, formerly used to hold pallets of merchandise. "That way," he said softly.

Casey went first with his gun in hand. Chuck followed a few paces behind, and Sarah brought up the rear, glancing behind from time to time. Casey saw the metal door first, and he gestured toward it while facing Chuck. Chuck nodded his head and stepped to the side as Sarah took a stance in front of the door, drawing her gun. She turned the handle on the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding her gun with both hands and sweeping to the right. Casey entered and swept left, advancing into the laboratory.

In the corridor, Chuck thought he heard quiet footfalls behind him, and spinning around, he came face to face with Mr. Smith. Smith grabbed Chuck by the throat and slammed his head against the wall. Dazed, Chuck fell to the floor in a heap while Smith reached in and pulled the metal door shut. He took a padlock from his pocket and snapped it through the hole on the door handle before returning his attention to the man on the floor.

Inside the lab, Casey and Sarah heard a thump and before they reached the door, a hand reached in and pulled it closed. Shit, thought Sarah, pulling on the handle and realizing the door was locked. Casey stood back with his gun drawn and Sarah stepped aside. He aimed at the handle and fired. The bullet burrowed into the metal a half-inch or so before stopping. Casey looked at the hole. "The metal's too thick for bullets," he said. He banged on the door once with his fist and then walked over to the small table filled with monitors. He began emptying his pockets onto the table. Sarah scanned the interior of the lab for an alternate exit. There wasn't even a window.

Outside the lab, Chuck waited for the spots to clear from his vision and he spit some blood onto the cement floor; he had bitten his tongue. Stay calm, he told himself. Be Carmichael. But thoughts of Carmichael fled as he glanced up at Mr. Smith, who had pulled out a large military knife. Chuck's eyes widened as Mr. Smith grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up to his feet, pushing him against the wall. Holding the knife to Chuck's throat, he patted Chuck down, searching for weapons. Chuck heard the muffled bang of Casey's gun and looked hopefully toward the door, but it didn't open, and Casey and Sarah didn't come barreling through with guns blazing. He would have to deal with Mr. Smith on his own.

"Now," said Smith, "I'm going to ask you some questions, and you are going to give me the answers, agreed?"

Chuck nodded his head and swallowed the blood that had pooled inside his mouth. It was like sucking on pennies, and his stomach rolled.

Smith lowered the knife and stepped back. "First, who are you?"

"Chuck, I mean, Charles, Charles Carmichael," Chuck stammered. "Agent Charles Carmichael."

Smith stepped close to him and punched him in the belly with his left fist. He held Chuck up, who had doubled over with pain. "That was the first, and the last, lie you will tell me," he told Chuck, stepping back again.

Chuck fought for breath. This was not going to end well, he thought. Where the heck were Casey and Sarah? They should have come to his rescue by now. He watched as Mr. Smith raised the knife again. "I'm Chuck, I'm just a computer guy working for the CIA," he blurted out, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Why on earth would Walker bring an asset out here?" Smith wondered aloud. He had recognized Agent Walker from the parking lot video feed.

Chuck cautiously opened his eyes. Smith stepped up to him again and held the knife against his throat. "What is Walker doing here?" he demanded, allowing the knife to cut slightly into Chuck's neck.

There was a sudden thump against the metal door, and Smith backed away from Chuck to look at the door. A sudden explosion ripped the door from the hinges, and the door flew to one side as smoke filled the corridor. Smith, who had fallen against the far wall with the blast, turned and ran into the darkness at the end of the corridor.

Sarah emerged first, going to Chuck immediately. Casey chased after Smith, and he too disappeared in the darkness.

"Chuck, are you okay?" she asked.

Chuck coughed violently from the smoke and spit out another mouthful of blood. "Yeah," he managed to say between coughing jags. Sarah helped him walk a short distance down the hall, away from the smoke, and his coughing faded.

"You should help Casey," he said.

"You're bleeding," she observed. "Let's get you back to the truck." She wanted to get Chuck as far away from there as possible.

"I bit my tongue, that's all, Casey's going to need your help."

Just then, Casey came trotting up to them. "He's gone. Had a car waiting on the other side." He looked at Chuck. "How is he?"

"Not great," said Sarah.

"Hello, I'm right here," said Chuck. "And I'm fine." Inwardly, he wanted nothing more than to ride home, take a shower and hide under the covers for a while. But he had to prove that he could handle mission work, that he could be more than a walking computer freak.

"I need to see the lab, maybe the Intersect can tell us where he went," said Chuck, walking toward the door without looking at Sarah. If she asked him to leave once more, he wouldn't have the strength to refuse.

Sarah and Casey followed Chuck into the lab; most of the smoke had cleared. Chuck looked at the mangled doorframe. "Let me guess, Casey had a stick of dynamite stashed somewhere."

"A little C-4 goes a long way," replied Casey, pushing past Chuck to sit down at the computer.

Chuck shook his head in wonder and then he spotted Richie's body on the floor. "Oh, God," he said, turning away.

"Over here, Chuck," said Sarah pointing to a stool. He sat down with relief and allowed Sarah to clean the cut along his neck with some sterile wipes she found in a drawer.

"So who is he?" asked Chuck.

"Richard Montcalm, a scientist, probably Smith's contact at the symposium," said Casey, walking over to them. "Computer's no good. The lab is clean." He handed Chuck the identification card from Richie's wallet.

Chuck looked carefully at the card. "Nothing, sorry," he said, handing the card back to Casey.

"Chuck," said Sarah, "did Smith say anything to you about where he was going?"

He swallowed hard before answering. "No," he said.

"Just what did you say to him?" asked Casey, picking up on Chuck's hesitation.

"All I told him was that I worked for the CIA," Chuck said quickly. There, he said it. He caved under pressure and revealed himself to the bad guy. Did Casey really think he was capable of lying to someone like Mr. Smith?

Casey grunted. "So now he knows who we are."

"Well, he knew that anyway," said Chuck. "At least, he knew Sarah."

***

Mr. Smith drove his car along the expressway, rocketing along at ninety miles an hour, weaving in and out of traffic. Damn it, he thought. How did they track him down? And why bring the asset? Too many questions without answers. He couldn't leave without taking care of them; they might interfere with his meeting with the buyer. Very well. He could easily take out the asset; he didn't know who Walker's partner was, but he was confident he could take him down quickly, as he had so many others. In fact, he was already looking forward to it. Walker might pose a problem, however; she had nearly exposed him the last time they met, and she knew to what lengths he would travel to accomplish a mission. Yes, he thought, nodding to himself, Walker was going to be a challenge. He smiled.


	5. The Shadow

Author's Note: A special thank you to anon4utu and truthseekr for their encouragement and critiques.

The Shadow

Edward Smith was a resourceful man; he had played the CIA game for all it was worth, garnering favors in several key areas, including a woman working in the requisitions department. He had assisted Mrs. Hayton with a personal matter, involving her husband and her daughter's second-grade teacher. In lieu of payment, she promised a favor, and he was about to collect. After settling into an older, privately-owned motel, he called her on a secure line and gave her the information she would need to help him. It was only a matter of time and a bit of deduction before he located Walker.

***

Chuck was tired. He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally. His encounter with Mr. Smith had caused him to doubt that he could ever establish himself as an operative, and he knew that could mean losing Sarah, as well. He slumped in his seat in front of the wall monitor at Castle. He should have just asked to go home, but he wanted to find out how Sarah and Mr. Smith knew one another, and more importantly, why Sarah didn't mention it beforehand.

General Beckman appeared on the screen. "I have read Agent Casey's preliminary report, and I see that the mission was not a success," she said.

Sarah, standing behind one of the chairs, answered her, "We were unable to track Smith after he left the warehouse." She steeled herself for the inevitable questions concerning her personal knowledge of Smith.

"We have tightened security around public transportation, but that will be worthless should he simply drive over the state line. Nonetheless, should we be made aware of his location, I will contact you." The screen went blank.

Sarah stood still, trying to comprehend why Beckman failed to ask her any questions about Smith. Then she realized that there was only one explanation.

"Casey, you didn't mention what Smith said to Chuck in your report," she said matter-of-factly.

"Didn't see any reason at the time," replied Casey, getting up from his chair. "It was a preliminary report, just the highlights." He folded his arms across his chest. "So, are you gonna spill it, Walker, or do I need to break out the bright lights?"

Chuck looked back and forth at them, wondering how Sarah would react to Casey's sarcasm. To his surprise, she sighed and sat down in the chair.

"I ran into Smith nearly three years ago," she began. "I was working a case in St. Petersburg, chasing down Ivan Tudeski."

"The Shadow," said Casey, with interest. "So that was you."

Chuck lifted his eyebrows.

Sarah turned toward Chuck. "The Shadow was what everyone called him. He was a weapons designer and very elusive. We didn't even have a physical description. Anyhow, I managed to infiltrate his design team, taking the place of his newest recruit, a biological sciences major from England. Smith was also undercover as part of the design team, but he wasn't there under the direction of the CIA. I would find out later that he was there to steal information from Tudeski to further his own research."

"And you didn't report him?" asked Casey.

Sarah took a deep breath. "No," she said. "There was a meeting with Tudeski and the design team. During the meeting, Tudeski asked several questions of me, and I realized that I had been made. I found myself surrounded by five of his bodyguards. I drew my gun, but really, I didn't have a chance."

"Where was Bryce?" asked Chuck.

"This was just after a mission in Columbia. The intel on the meeting came in at the last minute, and Bryce was still cleaning up the mess there. I was sent ahead; Bryce was to follow me within twenty-four hours."

"So what happened" asked Chuck.

"Smith had maneuvered himself near Tudeski during the commotion, and he drew his gun and held it against his head. Everyone dropped their guns and he asked me to do the same." She paused. "Smith shot and killed everyone in the room, including four members of the design team, except for me and Tudeski." She stood up and paced in front of the wall monitor. "He forced Tudeski to reveal his password, and he transferred the research from the computer to his own account. Then he killed him."

Chuck sat in silence, picturing Sarah in a room surrounded by bodies and facing Mr. Smith. Suddenly, he felt that he understood more clearly why Sarah had built up an emotional wall between herself and the world.

"I picked up my gun, and Smith explained that he was CIA working off the grid. He asked me to keep quiet about his involvement, that because he saved my life I owed him that much."

"So you let him go?" asked Casey incredulously.

"What was I supposed to do, we had a stalemate. The only reason he allowed me to live was because he knew the CIA would investigate my death and eventually discover what he was doing."

Sarah turned to face Casey. "I told Bryce about it, and we tried to track Smith down, and we came close a few times, but he went deep undercover. Bryce convinced me to not report it; he argued that despite the body count, Smith did manage to stop Tudeski from selling his latest weapons research. He was also worried about what would happen if the CIA found out I simply let him go."

"Your name was never mentioned, but according to the report, the agent involved, _you_, killed everyone that day. Rumors had it that you had lost control," said Casey.

Sarah smiled wryly. "Yeah, I spent three days in a psych tank before they decided it was an isolated incident. Or maybe they decided that it didn't matter much anyways." She shrugged.

Chuck spoke up. "I don't mean for you guys to take this wrong, but I hope we never run into that guy again."

"It's out of our hands now, he's probably long gone," said Sarah. She glanced at the clock. It was already six. You've had a long day, Chuck. Why don't you and Casey head home and get some rest."

"Yeah," said Chuck numbly, his tongue throbbing in his mouth. He doubted that he would get much sleep, however.

***

Chuck managed to avoid Ellie that night, retreating to his bedroom before she and Devon arrived home from work. He lay in the darkness, thinking about his encounter with Mr. Smith, reliving the overwhelming fear as he felt the knife on his throat. He came so close to dying, and it was only Casey's obsession with explosives that saved him. He realized now that he could never become the operative he had hoped to be. He didn't have that certain quality that Casey and Sarah possessed. He couldn't defend himself, and that weighed heavily upon his mind as he fell into a restless sleep.

***

"Chuck, wake up," Casey said softly, leaning over Chuck and shaking him gently.

Chuck awakened in a panic, and he grabbed Casey's arm. "What is it?" he asked.

"Lower your voice, your sister and Devon are home. You were yelling in your sleep. I didn't want them to hear you." Casey shook free from Chuck's grip.

"What time is it?" asked Chuck, blinking his eyes.

"It's only 2 am," said Casey, settling into the chair in front of Chuck's computer and putting his feet up on a table. "Go back to sleep."

Chuck looked over at Casey and raised his eyebrows. "You're going to stay here?"

"Well, I can't have you blabbing about our missions in your sleep, now can I? You better get a grip, Bartowski, because I'm _not_ going to play babysitter every night." Casey leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

Chuck watched Casey for a moment, and then he settled back into bed. Talking in his sleep was just one more reason why Beckman would want to throw him in a bunker. Casey was right, he had to get a grip on himself, or even he would have to agree that Beckman was right. He was glad Casey decided to stay; it was harder to freak out with the big guy watching over him. He didn't think he would fall asleep again, but he did.

***

Back at her hotel, Sarah climbed into bed after a hot shower. She was exhausted. She had failed to protect Chuck, again. She was going to have to talk to Chuck about this at some point. She knew he wanted to become an operative, in part because of his feelings for her, but she didn't see it working out. She should have made him stay in the car, but she had been surprised by Casey's insistence. It was far better, safer for Chuck to remain an asset. He would have to accept it. She planned to talk to Casey about it in the morning. With those thoughts, she finally fell asleep.

***

Mr. Smith hung up his phone at 2 am. Mrs. Hayton had come through for him. He knew that Walker had to be close by; otherwise she would not have showed up at the lab so quickly after his arrival. He still didn't understand how she knew where he was, but that was one mystery he planned to solve shortly. It turns out that the CIA was footing a rather long-term hotel bill only twenty minutes from his own motel. It made sense given her new assignment as a handler. He wondered briefly about that; what had happened to facilitate a demotion? Another mystery soon to be solved. He packed up and headed out into the night air.


	6. Cajun Omelets

Cajun Omelets

Sarah opened her eyes in the darkness. _A sound?_ Something, she thought, her senses fully awakening. She slipped her hand beneath her pillow and grasped her knife. Her gun lay on the nightstand, but she didn't want to alert the intruder by reaching for it. She continued breathing with deep, regular breaths, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. _There_. She heard it again. A soft whispering sound, like fabric rubbing against skin. Almost indiscernible. Her eyes flicked toward the door, and she could barely make out a human form standing still. She inhaled sharply.

"You're awake," the intruder spoke.

Sarah didn't think; she reacted. She threw the knife and grabbed her gun, rolling onto the floor and up on her knees in one swift motion. The intruder hissed as her knife penetrated deeply into his shoulder. Ignoring the pain, he stepped forward and kicked the gun from her hand. Sarah stood up and propelled her body into his, pushing him back across the room into a table. A vase of pink carnations fell to the floor with a smash. He reached up to pull the knife from his shoulder, and Sarah bolted to the right, toward the door. He threw the knife as he lurched forward; it sunk into Sarah's left calf, and she fell to the floor. She kicked her leg and the knife fell out; she rolled to the right and crawled, having spotted her gun just under the bed. The intruder caught up to her, breathing heavily, and he kicked hard. His foot caught the underside of her belly, and the force of it flipped her onto her back. He kneeled quickly, placed a hand on her chest, and he held his own gun to her temple.

The anger in his voice was barely controlled. "It seems we meet again, Agent Walker."

_Shit._ Sarah's mind raced; the word _escape_ clanged like a bell in her head. He would kill her if she tried, that much she understood. In fact, it surprised her that he hadn't pulled the trigger. That would be his first mistake, she thought. He would make another, and when he did, she would be ready.

She smiled at him, keeping her voice neutral. "I can't say I'm happy to see you."

"Turn over," he demanded.

She complied and he zip tied her hands together behind her back.

"Up."

He dragged her to her feet and she faced him. He turned on the bedside lamp, keeping his gun aimed at her. His eyes moved along her body; she wore only a tank top and panties.

"Guess you aren't hiding any more weapons," he said with a sneer.

"How's the shoulder?" she countered. Her own wound throbbed, but only a small amount of blood trickled down.

His smirk faded and he opened her dresser drawer. He rummaged through her clothing, selecting a pair of soft cotton pajama pants. He pointed to the bed. "Sit."

She sat and he kneeled just to the side of her, wary of her possibly trying to kick him. He slipped the pants over her feet and pulled them up with one hand, keeping his other hand on his gun. "Stand."

She stood and he pulled up the pants, tying the drawstring awkwardly with his gun in hand.

She gave him a questioning look.

"What would the neighbors think?" he said with a shrug; he grimaced with the movement and Sarah smiled inwardly. He spotted her cell phone on the nightstand and pocketed it.

He shoved her toward the door and they stepped into the hall. Sarah only briefly considered making a ruckus; Smith wouldn't hesitate to kill civilians. She considered and discarded several plans as she limped down the steps, her bare feet slapping lightly on the cool cement. It would help if she knew why Smith was here in the first place. If not to kill her, then what?

Smith stopped her when they reached the door. He opened it and stuck his head out; the street was deserted but he noted that the bakery across the street had opened. Moving quickly, he dragged Sarah out into the street and they walked a few paces to his car. He opened the trunk and gestured.

"You've got to be kidding," said Sarah, shivering in the early morning air.

In reply, he grabbed her and turned her so that she stood with her back to the trunk. He pushed her in and she drew up her legs as he closed the lid.

***

White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes filled the room and Chuck opened his eyes. He glanced at the computer chair; Casey was gone. He stretched and realized his neck was sore and stiff. At least his tongue was no longer swollen. He turned off the music as he got up and headed for the shower. Soft voices emanated from the kitchen, and he hurried into the bathroom, delaying his inevitable confrontation with Ellie. She would wonder why he avoided her last night. He stood for a while and let the hot stream of water massage his aching neck.

He wondered how Sarah felt about the mission yesterday. He always seemed to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. The problem was that he didn't know what he could have differently. Last night he had been prepared to admit that he would never become an operative; but in the light of day, he felt differently. Mr. Smith had _demanded_ operative training, according to Beckman. For the first time, Chuck considered using the Intersect as leverage. It would be a dangerous move, one that might land him in the bunker, but he thought it was worth the risk. Already he could feel Sarah slipping away from him; she was becoming his protector again, distancing herself from her feelings. He would start by asking Casey again, and if that didn't work, he would go to Beckman.

He got out of the shower and dressed, noting that the cut on his neck had already started to heal; the collar on his shirt hid most of it. He stuck his tongue out in the mirror; a nasty cut, but it too had started to heal. He walked out to the kitchen and stopped suddenly, his mouth falling open.

Devon was sitting at the table, reading the sports page. Behind him, in front of the stove, Ellie turned toward Casey and laughed. Casey looked up and smiled in return. He was folding an omelet with a spatula. With an expert hand, Casey then slid the omelet onto a plate. Ellie turned and noticed Chuck.

"Good morning, Chuck," she said with a smile. "John is teaching me how to make his famous Cajun omelets."

"Hey, Chuck," said Devon, without looking up from his paper.

Chuck closed his mouth and pulled out a chair across from Devon and sat down. "So, _John_," he began. "You're famous for omelets."

Casey shot Chuck a warning look as he set the plate in front of Chuck. "Better eat fast, Chuck, you're running late, _again_."

Chuck pushed the plate away. "Sorry, bit my tongue last night. I'll just have some milk."

Devon put down the paper and snagged Chuck's plate. "I'll take a crack at that, Chuck," he said, forking a bite of the omelet into his mouth. "Mmmm, this is great, John."

Chuck muttered under his breath as Ellie placed a tall glass of chocolate milk in front of him.

"Are you feeling okay, Chuck?" she asked.

"Yeah, but Casey's right, we're going to be late, and Big Mike is not gonna be happy." Chuck downed his milk quickly, stood up and walked to the door.

Casey grabbed a piece of toast from the plate on the counter, gesturing with it as he left. "Thanks for breakfast," he said.

"You're welcome anytime, John," said Ellie.

Devon finished off the omelet on his plate. "That guy's quite the chef," he commented.

"Yeah," said Ellie. "I'm glad Chuck has finally made a friend with someone who's normal."

***

Outside in the parking lot, Casey shoved Chuck ahead of him toward the Herder.

"What was that for?" exclaimed Chuck, bewildered. "This may come as a shock to you, Casey, but I am a person, not a punching bag."

"Get in," Casey replied, opening the driver's door.

Chuck got in and felt his anger at Casey fade. The guy did have a right to enjoy a normal moment once in a while. And, he did look out for me last night, he thought.

"Um, Casey?" he asked, as Casey started the car and began to drive.

"What?" said Casey, the irritation plain in his voice.

"Just wanted to thank you for last night." Chuck blushed, his face turning bright red. "I mean," he continued hurriedly, "you know, for hanging out a while. I appreciated it." Chuck turned toward the passenger window and watched the traffic slipping by.

Casey grunted in response, turning into the traffic. He had never dealt with anyone quite like Chuck. One minute he could throttle him, and the next minute he felt sorry for him. His shook his head slightly. As much as he hated to admit it, Chuck had a way of getting under his skin.

Suddenly, I Melt with You by Modern English filled the car.

Casey looked at Chuck and sighed.

Chuck grabbed his phone from his pocket and answered it quickly. "Hello?" he said, wondering why no caller ID number appeared.

"Carmichael, I presume."

Chuck recognized the voice immediately and the color drained from his face. He tapped Casey's shoulder with his left hand.

"Yes," he stammered. "This is Carmichael."

Casey veered across traffic and pulled the Herder over. He touched a keypad on the console and activated the computer.

"I have recently acquired a certain agent."

"Sarah?" asked Chuck, his voicing rising.

"You sound very concerned, Carmichael. How… interesting."

Chuck forced himself to speak slowly. "Why are you calling me?"

"670 Buckles Road. Just you and your handler or she dies slowly." _Click._

Chuck looked at Casey expectantly.

Casey shook his head. "Nothing." Casey put the car in gear and drove toward Castle.

Chuck sat in silence, trying to smother the wave of panic pushing up from his stomach. He pressed a speed-dial number on his phone. The phone rang and rang; it never switched over to Sarah's voicemail.

_Sarah_. Chuck gripped his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. _I'm coming for you, Smith_.


	7. Rats

Rats

Sarah opened her eyes slowly; her head was pounding. She blinked, taking in her surroundings. She was tied with her back to a large wooden beam and she sat on a wood-plank floor littered with hay and dirt. A few forgotten bales of straw were stacked haphazardly in a corner. Sunlight streamed in from an opening above her, revealing thousands of dust motes, swirling in the slight breeze. The barn smelled of musty hay, rotting wood, and cow dung.

Sarah sneezed suddenly, and she thought back to last night. Smith had let her out of the trunk and marched her into the barn. He tied her to the beam, and then she didn't remember anything. He must have given her some kind of sedative, which would account for the jackhammer in her head. She drew her knees up to her chest and noted that the wound on her calf had stopped bleeding, leaving a patch of dried blood on her pants. It was throbbing, but it didn't compare to her headache.

She scanned the barn's interior, memorizing the layout. Looking up, there was what must be a hayloft above her. To her left was the main door, a large sliding panel that was closed at the moment. Directly across from her was a smaller door, but it had been sealed shut with wood planks and nails. A series of ten stalls lined the wall behind her, and to her right was a worktable with some coiled rope lying under it. A ladder leaned against the back wall. Aside from the opening in the hayloft, there were no windows. She sighed; the barn was obviously abandoned, and it offered little to facilitate an escape. At any rate, she couldn't get free of the zip tie; it cut painfully into her wrists with every slight movement.

A scuttling noise from above distracted her for a moment; she hoped it wasn't rats. Mice were okay, but rats were another story. In Pakistan, she and Carina had crawled through two miles of sewer pipe, encountering a large colony of rats. Sarah shivered; she had been forced to smash some of them to death with her bare hands, and she had been bitten several times. She sighed again. What she wouldn't give to see Carina right now.

The barn door slid open and Mr. Smith walked in with a smile on his face. He wore all black and the floorboards creaked beneath his shoes.

"Well, well, the sleeping beauty is awake," he said, walking up to Sarah.

He squatted down in front of her and slowly shook his head. "Not so beautiful today, though." He reached over and brushed her hair back from her face. "Oh, the shoulder is fine; a few stitches and good as new, thanks for asking."

Sarah looked away.

Smith grabbed her calf and applied pressure to her injury. Sarah gasped softly and Smith chuckled, releasing his grip. "Apparently you aren't invincible after all, Agent Walker."

Sarah forced a smile. "Release me and I'll show you just how invincible I can be."

Smith stood up, unable to disguise his grimace as he did so. "Oh, but I don't want you to leave just yet, we're expecting company." He walked over to the worktable and leaned against it. "I did some research last night. Actually, I was surprised you were working with an NSA agent, and then I found out it was none other than John Casey. An unusual pairing, considering he does everything by the book, and you do not. I see you took credit for my clean up in St. Petersburg."

"Why are you selling your research?" Sarah asked.

"At first, it was for the money." He thought for a moment. "But a few weeks ago, I was approached by an organization that offered me the chance to help change this bureaucratic hell I've been caught in. They offered me a way out of the CIA; I can work for them as I please, and I can leave at any time."

"Fulcrum," said Sarah. Of course, she thought. Smith would be a perfect candidate for Fulcrum.

"I see you've heard of them."

"They are not what they appear to be," she said.

"Neither is the CIA," Smith replied. "As much as I'd like to continue this conversation, I must prepare for our guests."

"Guests?" asked Sarah, suddenly overcome with dread.

"Well, of course, I had to invite Agent Casey. And I also invited your asset. Chuck, I believe is his name."

Sarah's eyes flashed. "There is no need to involve Chuck, he doesn't know anything."

"Ah, but I think he does. You see, I was puzzled about how you knew where to find me. And you brought Chuck to the lab. It only makes sense that he is the reason you found me. I'm sure he will tell me all about it when he arrives."

"He's only an asset," said Sarah.

"As I was," said Smith. He left her then, sliding the door shut behind him.

_Chuck_. Surely Casey would keep him away from Smith. But she also knew that Chuck was becoming more independent, and, if he thought she was in danger, he might come regardless of what Casey tells him. She banged the back of her head against the beam with frustration.

A movement by the straw bales caught her attention. A rat poked its nose out and it scurried across the wood floor, its long pink tail disappearing into the shadows. Suddenly angry, Sarah wished she could throw the ugly rodent against the wall. She closed her eyes and envisioned Smith; she watched his eyes grow dull as she choked the life out of him.

***

"Now what?" asked Chuck loudly, climbing down the steps into Castle. Casey had already turned on the computer.

"Now we call Beckman," said Casey.

"Whoa, wait a minute, Casey," said Chuck, grabbing his arm.

Casey turned and looked at him. Chuck let go of his arm.

"Sorry," Chuck said, swallowing hard. "It's just that I think that is a bad idea. Smith only wants us to go."

"First of all, you are not going anywhere. You will stay here in Castle and I will go help Sarah. I'll round up some extra firepower and have her back here in no time." Casey turned back toward the computer.

"Casey, I'm going with you, or I'll go on my own," said Chuck, taking a few steps toward the Castle staircase.

"Do you really think you can take off while I'm standing right here?" Casey shook his head.

"Maybe," said Chuck. "At any rate, you won't keep me here without a fight." Chuck swallowed hard again and moved closer to the staircase.

Casey walked quickly over to Chuck and pushed him against the wall. "Are you gonna throw the first punch, or shall I?"

"Casey, this isn't just one of the usual bad guys. What I saw during the flash…" he trailed off. He looked at Casey directly and took a deep breath. "If Smith sees anyone but us, he will kill her. How did he find Sarah in the first place? My guess is that he has someone working with him, in the CIA or the NSA or something. Calling Beckman might tip that person off, and then he will kill her. You could go alone, but then he would kill her. We have to follow his instructions, Casey."

Casey stepped back, thinking.

"Please, Casey," Chuck implored.

Casey walked over to a storage locker and keyed in the code. He opened the locker, removing an assortment of weapons and a bag of clothes. He tossed a black vest and jacket at Chuck. "Wear these over your uniform, keep the jacket unzipped." Casey went into the bathroom and changed into his black outfit. He walked over to the table.

Casey set his own gun down, selected a different one and then tucked it into his holster. He also chose a few knives and tucked them into various holders hidden within his clothing. He placed a few more guns and some other supplies into a bag and zipped it shut. He handed Chuck his gun.

Chuck held up his hands. "Casey, I don't think…"

"Stuff it, Bartowski, you are going to carry this or you aren't coming," he said, lifting Chuck's jacket open and placing the gun into a concealed pocket.

Chuck stared at the pocket where Casey had hid the gun.

"Look," said Casey. "You might be able to hand it off to Sarah. Smith probably won't suspect you of carrying a gun."

"Oh," said Chuck, uncertainly.

Casey grabbed the bag and they left Castle and got into Casey's Trailblazer.

Chuck was very conscious of the weight of Casey's gun in his jacket as Casey drove. He tried to focus on the traffic to keep calm, but his thoughts returned again and again to Sarah and Mr. Smith.

He knew that Sarah was capable of dealing with Mr. Smith; he had long tried to ignore her violent history, despite the fights he had witnessed, even despite the execution of the Fulcrum agent last December. He also knew that he had been able to temper that violence in Sarah at times, and sometimes he could see that even Casey thought twice before pulling his gun out and blasting away. But he sensed that this time would have to be different. Mr. Smith was like no one Chuck had ever encountered. Both Sarah and Casey had to be allowed to do what they do best: take down the bad guy. And this time, Chuck was determined to stay out of their way.


	8. Semper Fi

Semper Fi

Despite the aid of the onboard GPS system in the truck, Chuck and Casey found themselves driving in circles along dirt roads in the small community of Buckles, dotted by old farmhouses and an occasional modular home. Casey stopped the truck at the intersection they had already driven through twice. The road sign on the corner informed them that although the road they were currently on was called Buckles, the road crossing in front of them was also called Buckles.

"Impossible," muttered Casey.

"Apparently Buckles is a favorite word in these parts," commented Chuck. "Casey, just back up to that gas station we passed."

"I'm not stopping for directions," said Casey, looking at the GPS monitor again.

"Fine, I will do the asking. Come on, we're wasting time," said Chuck.

Casey growled, but he put the truck in reverse, backing up a quarter mile to the two-pump gas station. He stopped the truck abruptly with a scattering of dust and gravel, and Chuck coughed as he got out and walked inside.

An old man with sparse white hair and a large nose sat behind an even older cash register; he was leaning back in a rocking chair and snoring softly. A Bassett hound was lying on the dirty floor next to the chair.

"Sir?" asked Chuck loudly.

"Wha, who?" said the man, waking up and nearly falling out of his chair as he leaned forward. The dog raised his head, blinked at Chuck, and then went back to sleep.

"I was hoping you could help me find six seventy Buckles Road," said Chuck.

The old man used both hands to lift himself from the chair; his knees popped loudly as he stood. "Never heard of it."

Chuck frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Ayup, there's no seven sixteen Buckles Road 'round here."

"Not 716, I said 670," said Chuck with some irritation creeping into his voice. Sarah could be dying and he felt time slipping away from him. He felt like grabbing the man by the shoulders and shaking the information loose. Instead, he took a deep breath.

"Do you know of a 670 Buckles Road?" he asked slowly and clearly.

"Oh, ayup," said the man. "T'was the old Hawkins place, burned down in forty-two, I believe. He scratched his nose. No, t'was forty-three," he said, thinking. He nodded his head firmly. "Forty-three. Twister came roaring through and the house caught fire, burnt right to the ground, it was." He shook his head sadly. "Whole family perished to death."

"Where is it?" asked Chuck impatiently.

"Where's what?" asked the man.

"Where is the Hawkins place?" asked Chuck.

"Why, I done told you it burnt," said the man.

"You mean there's nothing there? Just land?"

"Well, if I recall, there was a barn, but nobody lives there." The old man sighed and slowly sat down in his chair, his knees popping again. "Whole family at once," he muttered to himself.

"Where's the barn?" asked Chuck. He gave serious consideration to shaking the man.

"Oh, ayup. Take Buckles Road about six or so miles out and you'll spot the barn off to the right, if I recall."

"Which Buckles Road? There seems to be more than one," said Chuck.

"Oh, ayup," said the man, chuckling. "That happened way back in twenty-nine. Road commission made a mistake. By the time they got around to sorting it out, we was all used to it. Town took a vote and we kept both Buckles. Kind of a landmark for the town and all."

"But which one do I take to find the Hawkins place?"

"You mean the house that burnt?"

"Yes!" Chuck practically shouted.

The old man gave Chuck an indignant look. "I'm not deaf, young fella. Go to the crossroad and turn left, of course."

"Thanks," said Chuck as he turned and rushed out the door.

The old man leaned back in his chair and patted the dog's head. "Young folks got no respect these days," he told the dog. Still, he was glad it was the young fella instead of that stranger who stopped by yesterday. There was something about that man that just didn't set right. Dangerous, maybe. He recalled how intensely the man had glared at him. _Ayup_, he thought, rocking in his chair, _dangerous._

***

Smith parked his car just off the dirt road, hiding it in a thicket of junipers. His remote camera had picked up Casey's truck at the gas station. He walked a short distance down the road and then cut across the overgrown hayfield, making his way toward the barn. Although he had wanted to take his time with Walker, the Fulcrum contact had become impatient. Change of plans, then. Simple, really. Wait for Agent Casey and his asset, determine how the asset was able to track him, and then kill all three quickly. Not very satisfying, but Fulcrum would offer him other, more pleasing opportunities.

***

"That's it," said Chuck, looking at a barn in the middle of an old hayfield.

"There's no address anywhere," said Casey, scanning the roadside for a mailbox or sign.

"It's just where the old guy said it would be," said Chuck, getting out of the truck.

Casey shut off the engine and got out as well. He walked to the edge of the field. The hay was waist high, and it was clear that someone or some animal had moved through it recently. Casey used his binoculars to examine the barn.

"This is not a good scenario."

"What do you mean?" asked Chuck, shading his eyes with his hand and peering at the barn.

"He can see us coming, and there's no cover between here and the barn." Casey thought for a moment. "Chuck, you need to stay here."

"No way!"

"Listen, this is obviously a set up. I will go in and determine if Sarah is there. I'll wear the lipstick camera, and you can monitor me from the truck. If it goes bad, contact Beckman."

"Casey, you're…"

Casey raised a hand. "This is non-negotiable Chuck, it makes good sense. I'm not asking you to stay behind because I think you'll screw it up. I'm asking because I need someone to call for backup if things go wrong."

Chuck thought for a moment. It did make sense, but he had a bad feeling about Casey going in alone. By the time Beckman could send reinforcements, Casey and Sarah could be dead. Still, there didn't seem to be an alternative.

He nodded his head. "Okay."

Casey pulled the camera from his bag and attached it to his headset. He plugged the monitor into a side panel in the back of his truck. Chuck climbed in and turned on the video feed. The back of his head appeared on the monitor and he turned to face Casey.

"If things go bad, call Beckman and then you have to leave. You can't let the Intersect fall into Fulcrum hands," said Casey.

"But what if…"

Casey grabbed Chuck's shoulder firmly. "You have to leave. Is that understood?"

Chuck swallowed hard and nodded his head.

Casey let go of him and got out of the truck. Chuck followed him to the edge of the field.

As Casey started into the field, Chuck called out to him.

"What?" asked Casey.

"Semper fi, right Casey?"

Casey smiled slightly. "Semper fidelis." He turned and crouched low, trotting toward the barn.

Chuck returned to the Trailblazer and put on his headset. The barn loomed on the monitor, the image shaking with Casey's movement. _Sarah_.

***

Casey circled the barn once before approaching the main door. This was a classic ambush, and yet he had no choice; he had to see if Sarah was there. He decided that a bold entrance might serve to at least startle Smith, who was undoubtedly waiting with gun in hand. He slid the large door open noisily and ducked inside quickly, rolling to the right and taking cover in one of the stalls.

***

Chuck sighed as he watched the monitor; Casey circled the barn and then stood just outside the large door. Semper fidelis. He had heard the phrase many times before, not to mention that Semper Fi was also a Call of Duty mission. He and Morgan had shouted the words to each other, giving each other high fives during the game. He wished this was just another Call of Duty mission, rescuing a captured marine and saving the day all from the comfort of his bedroom.

_Always faithful_.

He watched as Casey entered the barn and the image on the screen blurred as Casey rolled along the floor. Wood paneling showed on the monitor, sliding downward as Casey peered over the edge of the stall.

_Sarah_.

Chuck inhaled sharply as she looked toward Casey. She was tired and weak, but alive.

"Casey," her voice was barely strong enough for Casey's mike to pick up. "You shouldn't have come."

"Yeah, well, I didn't come for you. I came for Smith."

Casey's camera panned the barn's interior and Smith stepped into view just behind Sarah.

"Well, here I am Agent…" Smith started to say.

Casey didn't hesitate. He fired his gun rapidly and stepped out from behind the stall.

Smith dropped to the floor behind Sarah and returned fire. The image on the monitored blurred crazily, and then the camera froze on an image of Casey lying on the floor. Chuck heard footsteps, and then Smith gave Casey a savage kick in the side. Casey remained still and silent. The image shifted suddenly, and Smith's face appeared on the monitor.

"If you don't want to see Walker meet the same fate, you'd better get in here, Chuck. I am not a patient man."

Chuck climbed out of the truck and ran toward the barn, flinging off his headset. Halfway across the field, he realized he forgot to call Beckman, but it was only a fleeting thought as he approached the barn door.

_Sarah_.


	9. Heart

Heart

_Casey_.

Chuck pulled up short before entering the barn and he backed up against the wall to the side of the door opening. _Calm down_, he told himself, trying to catch his breath. A strong breeze billowed around him, creating waves across the top of the hayfield. He pulled out his cell and entered a code number that he and General Beckman had set up after Operation Snowman. Then he turned on the alarm locator in his watch. Casey wanted him to run, but Chuck was done with running. Casey was his best friend, and even if the big guy would never admit it, Chuck knew that Casey considered him a friend as well. And Sarah, well, Sarah was so much more. Running was no longer an option.

He pushed down the wave of panic that threatened to paralyze him. He had to think like Sarah and Casey. What would they do? Take down the bad guy and save the day, he thought wryly. If this were Call of Duty, he would round up four or five soldiers and take Smith down in a classic pincer movement. He shook his head. There wasn't anyone else, and it would take some time for the cavalry to arrive. And God forbid they have to stop at that gas station for directions.

He had to stall for time, but he also realized that Smith might very well kill Casey and Sarah as soon as Beckman's people arrived. He had to get Smith away from them somehow. Only one idea came to mind. He took a deep breath, raised his hands, and entered the barn.

As Chuck entered, Smith raised his gun and then relaxed, allowing the gun to dangle at his side. He stood next to Sarah, who raised her head and locked eyes with Chuck.

"Chuck," she began.

"Sarah, I know." Although it was difficult, Chuck shifted his gaze to Smith.

"We need to talk," he said.

"I agree," said Smith. "You can start by telling me how you found my laboratory."

From above, a pigeon cooed softly.

Chuck looked at Casey, who lay on the left side of the barn. Too far away to determine whether or not he was still breathing. Chuck slowly lowered his arms and glanced at Smith's gun.

_Not now!_

The back of his brain began to tingle, and the urge to vomit was nearly unbearable. His vision blackened, and then he was hit with an onslaught of images in a red hue: stacks of dead fish in a wooden market stall; a man handing Smith a gun; Smith forcing a kiss onto a woman dressed in black ops gear; Smith's written application for formal induction into the CIA; Smith using a knife to kill the same woman he had kissed; stacks of dead fish in a wooden market stall. Chuck shifted his weight to cope with the brief bout of dizziness as the Fulcrum Intersect withdrew. He dreaded the Fulcrum flashes. The intensity was compounded by his memories of the pain he experienced during the download, memories that were nearly as painful as the actual experience. He gasped softly as his vision returned to normal.

Sarah had noticed the familiar glazed stare in Chuck's eyes and she kicked Smith lightly to gain his attention.

"Chuck has nothing to do with this, he's just a computer guy."

"I'm not a stupid man, Agent Walker. The top CIA agent and the top NSA agent were sent to handle a computer expert?" Smith laughed. "Hardly. There is more to Chuck than meets the eye, that's for certain."

"He's right," Chuck blurted.

Smith returned his attention to Chuck. "I'm waiting."

Chuck licked his lips. "Look, I'm more valuable to you alive and cooperative. Let's you and I leave here, and I'll tell you everything. Sarah and Casey aren't a threat to you."

"What makes you so valuable? I'm not just going to take your word for it." Smith took a few steps closer to Chuck.

"Don't say anything, Chuck," Sarah warned.

Smith turned around and aimed his gun at her. "Shut up!"

"Hold it, Smith," Chuck said quickly. "Sarah, I know exactly what I'm doing."

Smith turned back.

Chuck took a deep breath. "I know you loved your handler." He paused a moment. "And I know you killed her."

Smith was shaken briefly; the shock of Chuck's words was plainly evident on his face. He regained his composure and his gaze took on a deadly intensity. "How would you know that?" he said softly.

"Not here," said Chuck. "We leave and I'll tell you everything."

Smith pointed his gun back at Sarah. "You talk now or I kill her."

"If I talk now, you'll kill her anyway."

Smith thought for a moment. Suddenly, the distant sound of helicopters became evident.

"You called for help?" asked Smith, narrowing his eyes.

"Look," said Chuck quickly. "We don't have much time. We can leave now. Fulcrum will give you anything if you turn me in."

Chuck saw movement and he looked toward Casey, who rolled from his back onto his side. He was very pale and a trickle of blood ran down the side of his face.

Smith followed Chuck's line of sight. The noise from the choppers grew closer and he made his decision. Smith walked over to Casey deliberately, slowly crossing the barn, his mind racing. How the hell did the asset know about his handler? No one knew about that, not even after the CIA investigation of her death. He was never a suspect. He would kill the agents and take Chuck to Fulcrum, but not before questioning him personally.

_Click_.

Startled, Smith looked at Chuck.

Chuck had pulled out Casey's gun and released the safety. He held the gun with both hands, which shook so much he had trouble holding onto it. He swallowed hard and ignored the droplets of sweat running into his eyes; he blinked them away furiously. His heart hammered in his chest and he couldn't seem to draw a deep breath. Panic settled in and his legs felt rubbery.

Smith smiled and took a few steps toward Chuck. "Have you even held a gun before?" He laughed. "You're going to watch me kill your handlers, and you won't be able to do a thing about it." Smith walked back to Casey, keeping a cautious eye on Chuck. "You were right, I did kill her. It was hard for me, harder than any of the others. But I got over it. How will you feel, knowing that your refusal to answer my question has killed your friends?" Smith pointed the gun at Casey.

Chuck swallowed hard and felt the color drain from his face.

_Strengthen your stance_. Casey's calm, controlled voice broke through the panic surging through his mind. Chuck spread his feet slightly and squared his shoulders. _Grip the gun firmly, but keep your hands relaxed_. He tightened his grip on the gun and willed his hands to stop shaking. They continued to tremble a bit; but at least he wasn't going to drop the gun. _Aim, squeeze the trigger, and for God's sake keep your eyes open! _Chuck aimed carefully for Smith's chest.

Smith's eyes grew wide as he realized his mistake. He swung his gun toward Chuck and pulled the trigger.

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut tightly and fired the gun.

Three pigeons took flight among the rafters, flapping their wings noisily.

Chuck heard the gunfire, and then found himself looking up at the hayloft, struggling to take in a breath. He was dimly aware of Sarah's voice calling his name. He wanted to answer her, but he couldn't seem to make his lungs work. The rafters above him started to spin, and his vision darkened.

Then he was being shaken violently back and forth. Casey's hand gripped the collar of his vest.

"Breathe, Chuck," ordered Casey.

Chuck's eyelids snapped open and he drew in a deep breath, triggering a coughing spell. He looked up at Casey, who had crawled over to him.

"You're alive, Casey," Chuck managed to say between coughs.

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" said Casey with a smile. He shook his head and turned toward Sarah. "He's fine."

Sarah leaned back against the post with relief.

Chuck finally got the coughing under control. "Mr. Smith?" he asked.

Casey frowned slightly. "We don't have to worry about him. C'mon, let's get Sarah out of here." Casey tried to stand, and then dropped to one knee. The left side of his head was bleeding profusely.

Chuck stood, grabbed Casey's arm, and hauled him up. Casey held onto the edge of one of the stalls and handed Chuck his knife. Chuck hurried over to Sarah and cut the zip ties. He helped her stand and then he grabbed her and held her close. She shivered violently and laid her cheek against his chest. She stood quietly for a moment, relishing the warmth of his arms.

"Are you okay?" he asked her softly.

She looked up at him. "I am now," she said, blinking her eyes.

Casey cleared his throat. "Choppers have landed. I'll meet the troops." He walked outside with one hand holding the left side of his head.

Chuck let go of Sarah and walked over to Smith's body. There was a small bloodstain on his shirt.

"Chuck," said Sarah, taking his hand, "let's go now."

"I killed him, didn't I?"

"You saved Casey, Chuck. You saved me." She gave him a worried glance and tugged on his hand.

Chuck relented with a sigh and followed her outside. He shaded his eyes with his hand as he entered the sunlight. Three helicopters had landed in the hayfield around the barn. Several military vehicles were also present. Casey was sitting on the tailgate of an army truck, and a woman was stitching up his wound.

"Agent Walker," a woman in camouflage approached them. "Come with me and we'll get you examined and cleaned up."

Sarah looked at Chuck. He's too pale, she thought.

Chuck let go of her hand. "Go ahead, I'll check on Casey."

Sarah nodded uncertainly and joined the woman in camouflage. She glanced back at him several times before entering the back of a van.

Chuck sat beside Casey on the tailgate. A man walked over and helped Chuck remove the bulletproof vest and his shirt. A large bruise was already purpling on his chest. Chuck rubbed the spot absently, staring at the barn. Four men were carrying Smith's body out on a stretcher; they loaded it onto one of the helicopters.

Chuck put his shirt back on slowly.

"Are you okay, Casey?" he asked, keeping his gaze on the helicopter.

"The bullet just grazed me, no serious damage." Casey had watched Chuck's face while Smith's body was moved. "Chuck," he began. The woman had finished the stitching, and she applied a cotton dressing to the wound. Casey mumbled "thanks," and waved her away.

"Chuck," he started again.

Chuck interrupted him. "I know I didn't do what you wanted, Casey. I'm sorry."

Casey sighed. This was harder than he thought. "That's not what I'm trying to say." He took a deep breath. "You're a good man to have around, Chuck."

Chuck finally looked at Casey.

Casey nodded his head. "Semper fi, Chuck."

Chuck smiled weakly. "Semper fidelis, Casey."

Sarah approached them. She was wearing black pants, boots, and a dark green jacket. She carried three bottles of water, and gave one to Casey and one to Chuck when she reached them. Casey opened his and drank half of it in one long swallow. Chuck set his down on the tailgate.

"Did he hurt you, Sarah?" Chuck asked.

"Nothing permanent, just a knife wound to my leg. It's already starting to heal."

Chuck nodded. "Good." He looked again at the helicopter. "Why didn't he just take me and leave?"

Sarah started to speak, but Casey raised his hand. "Chuck, there is good and there is bad. Most people fall in between somewhere. And then there's a few like Smith, who don't really fit into any category. You'll never be able to make sense of it. You can only do what you have to do to survive, and move on."

"Move on," said Chuck in a distant voice.

Everyone was quiet for a moment, watching the activity around the barn.

"Chuck, we're hitching a ride to Castle for debriefing," said Sarah.

"I can't go, Sarah." Chuck hopped down from the tailgate.

Sarah and Casey exchanged a look.

"No problem," she said quickly. "I'll have you taken home and I'll see you there later."

Sarah walked him over to a car on the side of the road. She grabbed his hand and gave it a warm squeeze before he climbed into the backseat. "See you soon."

Chuck nodded and pulled the door shut.

She walked back to Casey.

"He's not doing so good," commented Casey.

"I know," said Sarah, biting her lower lip.

"I'm not feeling so hot myself," he said. "In fact, I think I'll give the surveillance of Chuck's apartment the night off."

Sarah stared at him.

Casey shrugged. "No sense in monitoring him if you're going to be there."

Sarah gave him a smile. "I'm glad you came for me, Casey."

"Like I said, I came for…" he began.

"Smith," Sarah finished for him. "I know, and I'm glad you did."

***

When Chuck got home, Devon and Ellie were sitting on the couch watching a movie.

"Hey Chuck, perfect timing! We were just starting to watch Spirit of the Marathon," said Devon.

"_Again_," said Ellie, rolling her eyes.

"It's just what you need Chuck. The proper motivation to take up jogging," said Devon, ignoring Ellie's comment.

"Uh, thanks, Devon. But I have a terrible headache, and I just want to crash right now," Chuck said, walking past them to his room.

"Are you okay, Chuck?" asked Ellie. "You're not getting sick?"

"No sis, I'll just take some Motrin and sleep it off. Enjoy the Marathon."

Chuck took a quick shower and then climbed into bed wearing only flannel pants, pulling the covers up to his neck. He turned on his iPod and speakers, setting the volume low. The sun dipped lower in the sky, and he watched the shadows lengthen on the walls.

He killed a man. While he knew it had been necessary, his mind teased him with other possibilities. Had he missed something? Could he have handled it differently? The image of Smith's body came to him again and again, and he felt sick.

The blinds on his window rustled and Sarah stepped into his room. She glided across the floor and slipped under the covers as he watched her with dull eyes. She curled up beside him and rested her head on his chest, carefully avoiding the large bruised area. Chuck wrapped his arm around her and she snuggled closer. Use Somebody by Kings of Leon drifted from the speakers and they lay silently together, listening to the music and watching the last of the daylight fade away.

Finally, Chuck broke the silence. "I can't do this, Sarah."

She waited.

"I can't live with myself."

She reached up and brushed his cheek with her fingertips.

"I'm not supposed to be a killer."

She lightly kissed his chest, her fingers tracing the outline of his bruise, barely visible in the dimly lit room.

"Please, Sarah."

She sighed and looked up at him. "You're different from other people, Chuck. That's why people are drawn to you. That's why I'm drawn to you. You always do what you feel is the right thing to do. And you did the right thing today."

"But it doesn't feel right." His voice cracked.

"It will in time. And until then, you will simply have to trust me. You did the right thing." She hesitated. "You should know something, Chuck. I had decided that you were better off being an asset. I was going to talk to Beckman about it."

"Oh."

"I realize now I was wrong."

"You do?"

"Yes. Chuck, you have so much to offer our team. Doing the right thing. Caring about people. Casey and I lose sight of that sometimes, and we need you to remind us." She shook her head. "That's not completely true. I need you Chuck. I need a man with a good heart. And Casey needs a good friend, even if he doesn't realize it yet."

"How can you say that knowing that I killed a man?"

"Chuck, if you didn't feel…conflicted about this, I would be worried. Even if this haunts you forever, and I hope it doesn't, you will realize that it was the right thing to do. It was your only option."

They were quiet for a long while, and Sarah finally felt the day's adrenaline rush dissipating.

"What did Beckman say about all this?" Chuck asked.

"Hmmm?" she said sleepily. "She thought you did a great job, and she ordered Casey to start teaching you some spy skills."

"Well, I think I'm done with guns for a while," said Chuck. "Maybe he could drop a little knowledge on C-4?"

Sarah smiled in the darkness. "You'll have to ask Casey." She turned her head up to look at him, and kissed him softly on his lips.

"Um," he stammered. "What about the bugs and cameras?"

"Casey is taking the night off."

She kissed him again, and he gripped her tightly, deepening the kiss. Sarah turned her back to him, and he turned onto his side and held her close, hoping the sweet smell of her hair would forever be imprinted into his memory. He hovered on the warm edge of sleep, focusing on the softness of Sarah's body next to his, and crowding out the images of Smith, at least for tonight.

He listened to her breathing, feeling the rise and fall of her chest beneath his arm. Outside, a robin braved the darkness, calling out its familiar _cheery-o_, _cheery-o!_

He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to float toward sleep.

"I love you, Chuck."

He opened his eyes. It was barely a whisper, but he heard her as plainly as if she had yelled it from across the room. Startled, he realized that she thought he was asleep. He smiled and waited for her breathing to become deep and regular.

"I love you too, Sarah," he whispered softly.

Outside, the lonely robin called once more into the night.

The End

Author's Note: I would like to thank all the reviewers who kept me motivated during the writing process, particularly Truthseekr and Timewalker05, who offered me some terrific writing advice whenever I hit a rough patch. I also offer a special thanks to Anon4utu, who not only provided me with enthusiastic support and editing assistance, but who also steered me into all the right directions with my last chapter.


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